


Multiplied Division

by 8ethespider8itch



Category: Adventure Time
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bubbline, marcibel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 05:08:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8191400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8ethespider8itch/pseuds/8ethespider8itch
Summary: A junior-year transfer. A long lost love. A bevy of tropes. Life finds a way.





	1. Chapter 1

The sky was a flat, slate grey usually reserved for snow storms and steel framework. Grey for miles and miles, a heavy sky just holding back a deluge of rain. It was amazing, really, how long an hour can seem in a tunnel of grey on a cold Sunday in no man's land. Flashes of colored leaves smudged by, failing to catch Marceline's eye as she stared, eyes unfocused, out the passenger window. The cold glass felt nice against her flushed cheek and she could almost pretend that leaving everything didn't bother her. It was useless to be melodramatic about moving, she supposed.

An hour isn't so far, really. Keila had her license and could come visit on weekends, and the band had agreed to move rehearsals to Bongo's apartment, smack between Marceline's new home and Guy's parents' house. This was a managable move. Marceline sighed, and her father echoed the sentiment from the drivers' seat. "I know you aren't excited about this move, but there are good things, Marceline," he said in his most comercial voice, the tone he used to convince investors to fork over the dough and upper level management to keep the promotions coming. When Marceline snorted in response, he continued. "We'll have a bigger place here. We're closer to your Uncle Simon. And..." he trailed off, but Marceline knew what he was thinking. The money he'd make in his new position more than made up for the silent treatment from his 16 year old.

"It's fine, Dad," she ground out, silencing his lecture with the most placid agreement she could muster. The screaming, the arguing, and the embarassing amount of tears had all been used earlier on, and in vain. Now grim defeat was her only defense against an onslaught of positivity. She switched on the radio before he could start up again, turning up the volume just loud enough to discourage conversation. Bowie at the Beeb crackled through her father's sub-par speakers. Thankfully, Hunson Abadeer could take a hint. Soon, the flat grey countryside gave way to a series of small, boxy houses in varying shades of beige. Marceline perked up. A peeling wooden sign on the right-hand side of the road read "Welcome to Coolridge Grove." Or, it would have, had it been in better shape. "Welcom t Ooo," Marceline intoned in her best tour-guide voice, and Hunson chortled. As the town sprouted around them, the buildings grew larger and more colorful.

Marceline tried hard to look disinterested, but the shopfronts advertised "Ivy's Pies and Generally Edible Eats," and "Occult Museum of Heroes and Villains," and "We Take Album Trades --- CD, Cassette, 8-track, and Vinyl!" and the buildings were odd amalgomations of architecture painted in vibrant shades of candy colors. It was aesthetically pleasing even in its tackiness. Marceline was enthralled. She held her phone up to shoot the band a snap - who had 8 tracks anymore?!

The town slowly gave way to more homes, larger than the ones they'd seen before. These houses were larger, with sprawling, manicured lawns and separate buildings for the garage. These were better maintained than the rest of town, but a few were still chipped and peeling, and the paint choices were questionable. Hunson pulled the car down a long, winding gravel driveway, wincing as they bumped along up an incline. The house that sat at the top was like a gothic novel in miniature. Deep grey stone walls were trimmed in butter yellow. There was a porch that spanned the whole front of the house, the roof held up with spiraling columns. A turret poked from the front right corner, and the upstairs windows were stained glass. It was hideous.

Marceline was in love.

Hunson grimmaced. "The design isn't exactly appealing," he said, clapping a hand on Marceline's shoulder. "But you can't beat the location - or the price!" She followed him into the foyer and kicked off her boots. The inside was gleaming, no doubt thanks to whoever her father had paid to clean. She hung her jacket on a hook near the door and glanced around. A sweeping staircase took up most of the entryway, and three hallways lead to whatever rooms were downstairs. There was so much to explore!

"I'm going to find my room!" she called, already halfway up the stairs. 

"If you need me, I'll be in the study," Hunson replied absently. As if she knew where that was. Chances were high that it would take him six months to figure out where his daughter slept. Marceline didn't answer.

The upstairs of the house was a long corridor with doors on either side. Marceline opened the first to find stacks of towels and sheets. She filed that information away for the next time she showered and opened the next door. It was a bathroom, tiled in deep purple. The bathtub in the corner was inordinately deep, with three knobs instead of two. She left this door open and kept on exploring.

The next two rooms were for guests, made up in bland greys that kept with the theme of the day and made Marceline purse her lips in disapproval. Next was a dusty staircase, which lead to a somewhat disapointing attic full of holiday decor and plastic storage tubs.

The door on the far end was open a crack, and when Marceline opened it she couldn't help smiling. The room was arranged exactly like her old one had been, with the bed at the center and the covers disheveled. Her father's movers were thorough and meticulous without his distaste for clutter, so the posters that had littered her walls at home were all in their places. It felt like she'd never left it at all. She dropped a Cure album on the record player and curled up under the covers with her favorite stuffed animal and bent up copy of Where the Sidewalk Ends. Despite the early hour, exhaustion kicked in and she was asleep before the end of the book.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Marceline woke surprisingly early the next day. The sun was barely peering over the horizon and the room was cold. Confused, she felt around for her phone. 6:15. She had one text, from Keila.  
  
"Just making sure you're up for school. No skipping for the first month! Love ya :*"  
Marceline rolled her eyes. The vibration must have woken her. She rolled out of bed and headed to the wardrobe in the corner of her room where she would usually hang sweatshirts, flannels, and the occasional dress or skirt. Just as she suspected, the movers had taken care of it. She grabbed a red plaid flannel and the jeans she'd left lay on the floor the night before and got dressed haphazardly in the dim light. She knew what her father would say about dressing for success, but she prefered to dress like herself and let people set their standards accordingly.   
  
In the bathroom, she rushed through brushin her teeth and dragged a wet comb through her long, dark tangles. Fine, straight hair like hers tangles violently overnight. She lined her eyes and stuck out her tongue. Good enough. Her phone buzzed.  
  
"Srsly Marcy u up?" Keila could be so pushy!  
"Yep just grabbing breakfast ttyl" Marceline replied as she took the stairs two at a time. Where was the kitchen again? She swore. Exploring would have been a good idea. No time like the present though! She took the door to her left and found herself in a narrow hall with an arched door at the end. Through the door she could see shelves and shelves of books. That must be the study. She knew her dad would have coffee in there, so she popped her head in and snagged his mug from his desk. He was already engrossed in several files and didn't seem to notice her. Taking a chance, she took the buttered bagel as well and shouted "Bye Dad!" as she dashed down the hall and out the door. She doubted he'd miss it anyway.   
  
Her car was parked out back in the carriage house, a slatted wood structure that leaned left and wasn't quite right. It was a Chrysler Sebring, a sensible car that had once belonged to her father, but it was still a cherry red convertible so she couldn't help loving it anyway.  
  
Marceline drove a bit too fast, enjoying the crisp fall air as she beat out the rhythm to the Killers, occasionally accompanied by her GPS. The sun dazzled through the windscreen and caught her off guard as she made the final turn into the school parking lot and she almost rear ended the 85 VW Rabbit parked at an angle in the first space in the lot. She swerved, swearing, and pulled into the next spot over. Cranking down the window, she shot the boy leaning on the driver's side an apologetic grimace.   
  
"Sorry about that, dude!" she called.  
  
The boy was a skinny blonde in one of those animal-shaped hats everyone had a few years back. He grinned at her, a smile that split his face ear to ear. "Nah, no problem lady. Are you the new girl?" He bent forward and peered in her window curiously.  
  
"I'm /a/ new girl," Marceline answered cautiously. "I might not be the one you're thinking of."   
  
The boy laughed. "We don't get that many new people. You moved into that dusty old place up in the Kingdoms, right?" Seeing Marceline's confused look, he clarified. "All the big fancy houses on the far edge of town."  
  
Marceline nodded. "Too fancy by far. I feel like Dracula wandering down the halls!"   
  
The other boy, who was dragging a duffle bag out of the trunk with muscular arms, muttered "Is that good or bad?" in a sour tone.  
  
Marceline shrugged. "It's cool."   
  
"Aw, don't mind Jake. He's just being a grump because the coffee maker crapped out this morning." The muscly boy, Jake, nodded sourly. "I'm Finn, and this is my brother Jake. What classes do you have?"  
  
Marceline fished in her messenger bag and pulled out a tattered envelope, still sealed. She'd been so peeved about this move that she never bothered to look at her schedule. Hastily, she tore it open.  
  
"Math with Leibovitz, composition with Todd, literature with Steinway, and yes!" She pumped a fist in the air. "Physics with Simon!"   
  
"Mr Petrikof?" Jake asked. "He's a weird dude. Can't remember names to save his life, but a total science whiz!"

  
"I know," Marceline smirked. "He's my uncle."  Jake looked embarassed. "Hey, man, I know he's totally nutso, but he's a really cool guy!"    
  
Finn was peeking over her shoulder. "I'm in your math class, and you'll have composition with Lady." He grabbed her elbow and startes dragging her toward the school building. "I don't know anyone in literature but Bonnibel takes Physics with Petrikov, so I'll make sure she knows to help you out. Oh, and you're A lunch. Mathematical! So are we!"  
  
As they followed a growing crowd of students through the double doors, a pretty girl with long, white blonde hair swung her rainbow jacket around to whip Jake playfully on the shoulder. He pecked her on the cheek and she seemed to radiate joy.   
  
"That's Jake's girlfriend, Lady. Lady, this is Marceline, the new girl. She's in your comp class."  
  
"It's nice to meet you," Marceline said awkwardly. Lady smiled at her.  
  
"It will be nice to have someone new to sit with in comosition. I don't know much about music at all!"  
  
Marceline's face lit up. "Really? I can probably help, I was in a band back home. Music is so rad."   
  
Lady looked like she was about to respond, but the bell clanged over the PA system. Finn grasped Marceline's arm again. "C'mon, Marceline, we gotta get to math!" Marceline followed resignedly, and the little group scattered to get to class.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Marceline make new friends today, or will she crash and burn?

Finn half-dragged Marceline down the halls, trailing her behind like a limp wind sock. She made a cursory effort to learn her way, but with Finn half-introducing her to nearly every person they passed in an excited shout, it was a waste of time. The faces and weird nick names smudged together in a bizarre blur. Did he just call that girl Hot Dog Princess? Then, they abruptly stopped outside a door at the end of the hallway. Finn finally released her arm, and she massaged the spot he'd been gripping with a frown.  
  
"We're on time!" Finn crowed, dashing through the door. His enthusiasm at 7:30 am was impressive, if a bit disturbing. Marceline followed, peering around the room to get a feel for the vibe of the class. The desks were in straight rows of pairs, with nearly every desk occupied. Most of the students were a generic mix of nerds and rich kids, pretty standard for an AP class. No one caught Marceline's eye as potential friend material, aside from goofy Finn pointing to the empty seat next to him excitedly. She lingered near the door, trying to exude confidence.  
  
The teacher, a small and rumpled woman who smelled strongly of ink, laid a hand on her shoulder gently. "Are you Marceline, dear?" She pronounced her name like it was a pasta dish and Marceline fought back an awkward laugh, nodding. "Well it looks like young mister Mertens would like to be your partner." Finn was STILL waving. "Why don't you go ahead and join him. We're just begining review for a test, this will be a good way to see where you stand."  
  
Working with Finn was surprisingly fun. He struggled with concepts Marceline could have done in her sleep, but he was a creative problem solver and found a way to answer every review question. Marceline thought math was a breeze, being a skilled musician, and spent the period laughing at Finn's incompetence and reviewing a few basic concepts.

"Finn, how do you not know how to find X?" she asked, exasparated.

"I do!" he argued. "It's right there!"

She was almost sad when the eighty minute period had passed and the bell rang.  
  
Composition was in the music wing, easy enough to find. The walls were papered with fliers advertising private lessons, camps, and open mic nights at a local cafe as well as performing arts audition sign ups. Marceline took a moment to choose a jazz band audition before darting into room 235. As she'd suspected, this class was almost too easy, and she spent most of her time working on things the band could use this weekend at practice. When the bell rang for lunch, she got permission to stay and keep working. Cafeterias were the stuff of nightmares, especially for new students. She wrote a full track entitled "No One Eats Breakfast in High School" before the bell rang again.  
  
Next was literature, which Marceline found intensely boring. Her old school had been reading Vonnegut, but in this class they were stuck with Moby Dick, and every time someone said "dick" the boys behind her laughed and punched each other. It was a long 80 minutes.  
  
Marceline had been looking forward to Simon's class all day. She hummed anxiously as she strode through the door, scoping out the seating arrangements. She knew Simon would let her sit pretty much wherever, assuming the seat wasn't taken. There weren't many people here. A few lanky string bean boys sat in a corner discussing a Reddit post angrily. A curvy girl in a purple cardigan was texting furiously in the second row. There were some try-hard emo kids in the back corner sharing earbuds. And-  
  
Someone bumped into her from behind.  
"Oh fudge, I'm so sorry!" a flustered voice apologized, and Marceline turned to see a pretty girl with a long pink ponytail and tired eyes picking up scattered papers. Marceline bent to help her.  
  
"Nah, my bad. I shouldn't have been standing in the doorway like that." Marceline handed her a stack of what looked like incredibly organized notes. The girl looked at her oddly, eyes narrowed slightly like she was focusing too hard.  
  
"Are you Marceline?" she asked.  
  
"That's me!" Marceline grinned easily.  
  
"Bonnibel," the girl said. "Finn told me to keep an eye out for you, he thinks you're pretty rad. I was kind of expecting someone less..."  
  
"Dark?" Marceline replied with a smirk. "Don't worry princess, I'm not so bad." Bonnibel's cheeks flushed and she sputtered for a second, but Marceline ignored her and walked into the classroom, finding a seat near purple girl. She was used to ignorant little nerd girls looking at her and shrinking back. It wasn't a big deal.

Before Marceline could start stewing in her own annoyance, Simon burst through the door. 

  
"Good morning dear children!" he called as he bustled in, papers trailing behind him. No one bothered to remind him it was afternoon. "Today we will be reviewing momentum. But first-" He gestured wildly at Marceline. "We have a new student! Marceline, why don't you stand up and introduce yourself?" 

Marceline glared at him, but he was smiling at her so eagerly that she couldn't say no. "Hey, I'm Marceline. I like music, and um. Yeah." She sat down awkwardly. Simon smiled encouragingly. 

"Thank you for sharing, Marceline. I'm sure everyone will make you feel at home." Then, abruptly, he jumped right into physics.  
  
It always surprised people how Marceline excelled academically. For someone who didn't really care, who seldom studied and never did homework at home, she was gifted with an ability that negated hard work. As Simon lectured, Marceline doodled in the margins of her notebook and occasionally wrote down funny quotes. When it came time to start the practical lab, she was paired with purple girl, whose name was actually Ella. Ella was a diva in her own right, reigning over everyone within earshot whether they liked it or not. Marceline liked her attitude.  
  
"Who's the pink T Swift?" Marceline asked her in an undertone as they rolled ball bearings along a track.  
  
"Oh, that's Bonnibel. Total science whiz, shoe in for valedictorian. She's way standoffish but she's actually like, super cool."  
  
"Huh," Marceline said. "I would have thought she was a cocky mega-nerd who needs an attitude adjustment."  
  
"What the beans, Marceline!" Ella exclaimed.  
  
"Just an impression I got." Marceline shrugged and started recording data. "I'm sure she's wicked cool."

She could feel eyes on her as she left Physics for her jazz band audition during study hall. It was like being stalked. Someone was watching her, but when she turned around no one was there. It wasn't until she reached the band room that she finally caught her stalker.

"Gotcha!" she said, spinning on her heel. Behind her was a small person with short, teal hair and big black glasses.

"Hello," the student said, as though they had planned on introducing themselves in this manner. "I am Bee. Are you Marceline?" 

"How does everyone know my name?" Marceline groaned. 

"Finn told me. He said you like music and that you might want to make some friends." 

Marceline smiled. Finn and his infinite supply of friends were exhausting, but it was nice to meet people so easily. She made a mental note to thank him later. 

"Nice to meet you," Marceline replied. "You headed to the band room?" 

Bee nodded. "I have to make up a lesson I missed during gym. I can show you where to go."

Bee, who apparently had no other name, walked her to the band director's office. Knowing she had no prep time, he asked her to improv on bass with Bee on keyboard. They were able to get a comfortable groove going, and Marceline could feel all the day's stress falling away. Bee was eclectic and bizarre, but left plenty of room for a sick bassline. This was good. The director told her he would let her know within the next few days, but his smile told her everything. Maybe this new school wouldn't be so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's Bonnibel's deal? Do you think she has a problem with Marceline or it all just a big misunderstanding?


	4. Chapter 4

The first week at her new school went by surprisingly quickly for Marceline. Classes went smoothly and the workload was light. She had worried about being behind, but it seemed that her old school was ahead in everything but physics. Ha! Like she could ever need help with physics! Finn asked her to join him at lunch every day, but she liked snacking and writing in the comp room where it was nice and quiet and she could play through whatever she wrote. Sometimes she'd send a quick sound byte to Keila or Bee for critique. Lady always made sure to say goodbye to her before she left for lunch, just to be certain she didn't want to tag along.  
  
On Friday though, they didn't give her much say. Finn showed up at the end of the period and did that the thing where he grabbed her and dragged her down the hall, Lady trailing behind and apologizing repeatedly. He plopped her unceremoniously in a chair.  
  
"Just be social," he said firmly before dashing off to buy lunch. She rolled her eyes and dug some chips and an apple out of her purse. Disapearing was still an option, but she had to admit she'd feel guilty disapointing Finn. He was just so sincere, it would be like kicking a puppy. Besides, the table was slowly filling up around her. Ella sat across from her, and Bee was to her left. Finn and Jake sat beside Ella, and Lady took a spot across from them. Then Bonnibel took the seat to Marceline's right.  
  
"I did not know you had our lunch," Bee said excitedly, a Fruit by the Foot hanging from their mouth.  
  
"Yeah B, Marceline is just too cool to eat in the caf with us plebs," Finn joked.  
  
"Just too cool for you, Finn," Marceline retorted lightly, stealing one of Ella's Jelly Bellies. Ella swatted at her hand but missed.  
  
"Oh my glob, Marceline, what is your deal?" she groused.  
  
"That's just my thanks for doing our whole lab report last night. You're welcome, by the way."  
  
Bonnibel perked up. "You finished the lab report?" she asked. "Did your variable list include wind resistance? I know there's no wind in a classroom, but..." she trailed off and looked at Marceline awkwardly, as if she had just realized who she was talking to. "Nevermind."  
  
"Nah, it's cool princess," Marceline answered. "I included wind resistance because those jerks in the back of the room are all full of hot air and they never shut up."  
  
Bonnibel laughed, and seemed surprised at herself. "I assume there was wind resistance, I'll leave it in."  
  
"I'm sure Simon will appreciate your attention to detail," Marceline assured her.  
  
"Simon?" Bonnibel asked, wrinkling her nose.  
  
"Petrikov is Marceline's uncle, Bubblegum," Finn explained through a mouth full of burger.  
  
"Old habits die hard," Marceline shrugged. "I hate calling him Mr. anything. It's weird. Almost as weird as Finn calling you Bubblegum." Bonnibel was giving her that funny look again, but before Marceline could call her on it Ella was changing the subject.  
  
"Melissa and I want to have a huge holiday party next weekend! My parents are going out Friday night and they said we can use the basement as long as we don't totally trash the place."  
  
"Sounds sweet," Jake answered, and the others agreed. Bonnibel didn't look too excited, but she didn't say no.  
  
"Marceline, are you in?" Ella asked  
  
"Yeah, sure. My band might be around this weekend, is it cool if they tag along?" Social situations were much easier with a buffer. Marceline knew these guys were ok, and that they were her friends, but Keila always made sure she had fun.  
  
Ella shrugged. "That's cool. I don't want too many kids, no more than thirty or forty. That's like, totally trashy."  
  
Marceline nodded gravely, trying hard not to laugh. "Of course. A small, intimate gathering with thirty or forty of your closest friends."  
  
Missing the sarcasm, Ella nodded vigorously. "Exactly! Thank you for understanding, Marceline."  
  
Finn snorted into his milk carton and Jake thumped his back a few times, chortling. Even Lady let out a little giggle. Ella, ever oblivious, dug into her frank 'n' beans with a shrug. "I'll send out a group text. Marceline, give me your phone so I can text myself your number."  
  
Marceline slid her phone across the table. She hadn't really had a group of school friends before. Keila was a senior last year and the first few weeks at her old school Marceline had sat at the emo table with some underclassmen, or in the library with a novel. It was odd to have Ella texting "it's me bitch xx" and saving herself to Marceline's phone as "ella luvs u" with a cloud emoji. Marceline stared at her screen. Bee peeked over her shoulder.

  
"Do not worry," they stage whispered. "She is in my phone this way too."  
  
Marceline would have responded, but the bell rang for literature and she knew she had to dash.


	5. Chapter 5

When the day ended, Marceline rushed to the parking lot. Keila was on her way over, and she wanted to make sure to beat her to the house. Her father was in the office today, and she knew he'd leave the house locked up tight. Since the heat in Keila's car didn't work, it would be cruel to leave her waiting. Finn was somehow already in his brother's car, waiting. He waved excitedly to Marceline the way he always did. She waved back before squealing her tires on the way out of the parking lot.  
  
Keila still beat her there, and her junky Kia, the Silver Surfer, was parked beside the carriage house, colored more with duct tape than paint. Keila appeared to be napping with the front seat flipped back, a big floppy hat of Marceline's pulled over her eyes. Marceline let her car drift as close to Keila's as possible before leaning on the horn.  
  
Keila sat straight up, swearing, and Marceline laughed until tears streamed down her cheeks. She parked the car and Keila tackle hugged her.  
  
"Your eyeliner is wrecked, Marce," she said teasingly.  
  
Marceline ignored that. "Miss me yet?" she asked, leading Keila into the house.  
  
Keila rolled her eyes. "It's only been a week. Where's your kitchen, I'm starved!"   
  
The kitchen was hidden behind the small door under the stairs, and it had taken Marceline three whole days to figure out that it wasn't just a broom closet. They made microwave pizzas and sat at the small breakfast bar.  
  
"So how have you been?" Marceline asked through a mouthful of pizza.  
  
"Ew, Marcy, swallow your food. I've been taking classes at the community college, trying to up my hours at the record store so I can get the Surfer a new bumper. Same as usual, really."   
  
Marceline wanted to know everything. How were the boys? Had anyone moved into her old house yet? Was their EP selling? Suddenly, she was tragically homesick.  
  
"Marcy, almost nothing has changed. And you'll see the guys tomorrow afternoon, chill out. I want to know about how you are. Are your classes good? You said you made some friends, yeah?"   
  
"I met some people," Marceline answered. "This guy Finn showed me around and introduced me to his friends. They seem to like me enough." She didn't mention how they made her eat lunch with them.   
  
"That's great! I knew you'd meet cool people." Keila smiled encouragingly. She was fairly protective of Marceline since her mother died. Old Marceline hadn't needed protecting. She was fearless and wild, a cyclone in the body of a girl. New Marceline was moody and withdrawn in new situations, and Keila was used to being the buffer that made adjusting easier. Marceline knew it must be a huge relief to know that she wasn't a social pariah in her new school. "You're fitting in ok, right? No one's fucking with you?"  
  
Marceline laughed. "No one but Simon. He likes to call on me when he thinks I'm not paying attention."  
  
"Well, are you paying attention?" Keila teased.  
  
"Of course I'm not! I know all this stuff, who cares?" Marceline thought back to class today, when Simon had asked Marceline to solve an equasion using the formula on the board and she hadn't lifted her head from the lab table to look. She mumbled out the solution and covered her face, but couldn't miss the look of blatant disaproval on Bonnibel's face.  Her expression soured.  
  
"What?" Keila asked, frowning at her.  
  
"Nothing," Marceline grumbled. "Just one of Finn's friends. I don't know what her deal is man, but she definitely doesn't like me."   
  
"What makes you say that?" Keila looked concerned.  
  
"She just gives me these dirty looks all the time. Like I did something to piss her off." 

  
"Well, did you?"   
  
"Not that I know of!" Spotting Keila's doubtful look, Marceline protested. "No, seriously, I really just think she hates me for some reason! And I don't even care. She's just some cute little goody two-shoes-"  
  
"Ohhhhhh, you think she's cute!" Keila interupted. "No wonder you're so agitated!"  
  
"She's not cute, Keila! And I'm not agitated!" Marceline shuddered theatrically. "I wouldn't check out a pink-haired, ass-kissing wannabe for more than a second and you know it."   
  
Keila gave her a little shove. "That sounds like exactly your type. You're just pouty because she's straight. Admit it."  
  
Marceline wasn't one for admiting things. "I just don't like her. And she doesn't like me." She licked garlic butter from her fingers. "My dad got me a new amp to buy my love when we moved, let's go test it out!" She dumped her plate in the sink and headed to her room, crossing her fingers that Keila would drop it and follow. When she heard a clinking plate, she breathed a sigh of relief. Her stupid little crush on Princess Bonnibel Bubblegum, royal suck up, needed no more scrutiny.  
  
It was great to spend some time with Keila again. They ate bacon sandwiches and fooled around with Marceline's new amp until the early morning. Keila praised Marceline's new tracks, which made her beam with pride. When they finally fell asleep at nearly three in the morning, Marceline was absolutely content.


	6. Chapter 6

Afternoon light was seeping through the windows before Keila or Marceline stirred. Keila was, as usual, the first one up. She kicked Marceline insistently under the covers.  
  
"Up! Breakfast! Go!" she grunted, not awake enough to form sentences.  
  
"Fuck breakfast. Fuck you," Marceline mumbled through the pillow. She rolled over and yanked the duvet over her head. "No more."  
  
Keila wasn't having any of it. "Up!" she repeated, louder this time, tugging the blankets aside. Marceline groaned, but sat up and rubbed her eyes.  
  
"M not cooking," she grumbled. She climbed out of bed and found some plaid mens pj pants and  a Halloween crew neck. "Put some pants on. Gonna go find food."  
  
They decided to walk into town, and the brisk morning air woke her up better than even an espresso shot would. This was Marceline's first  time exploring the town. With a little help from Keil's keen eye she found a dingy little cafe with a specials sign boasting "World's Greatest Apple Fritters...World's Okayest Coffee."  
  
"I could go for some okay coffee," Keila said, leading the way in and sitting at a table near the front of the shop. They ordered raspberry lattes and watched boring people go about their boring lives through the window. Marceline munched on what was definitely a mind blowing fritter. Keila ate biscotti and helped Marceline write lyrics, jotting them down on a paper napkin with the pen she kept skewered through her ponytail. They discussed Marceline's new friends, and the band. Marceline avoided mentioning Bonnibel at all costs, keeping the conversation focused on Bee and Finn to the best of her ability. Keila probably noticed this, but she decided to let it be. Midway through a graphic description of Bongo's breakup, the door front door opened and Keila froze.  
  
"Uh oh," she stage whispered, leaning toward Marceline conspiratorially, "don't look now, but your favorite princess is holding court across the cafe. I think."  
  
Marceline, of course, looked. There was Bonnibel, leaning across the to-go counter and chatting away with the barista. She was bundled up in multiple scarves over a huge sweater, but there was no mistaking that candy- pink hair piled in a wild bun atop her head. She made eye contact with Marceline, looking owlishly through big round glasses, and Marct swore quietly but waved hello as cheerfully as she could manage. Keila was in silent hysterics beside her, and Marceline gave her a swift kick in the shins. No need for Bonnibel to think (know?) that she'd been a topic of conversation. The princess, for what it was worth, looked a bit confused as she returned Marceline's friendly wave. Paper cup in hand, she began walking their way.  
  
"She /is/ cute, Marcy," Keila hissed, and Marceline kicked her again, harder this time, just as Bonnibel arrived at their table.  
  
"Hey there princess, come sit," Marceline said, in her bestattempt at a normal, friendly tone.

  
Bonnibel frowned at her. "Thanks, but I'm in a bit of a hurry. I was just wondering if you'd read the homework chapter for Physics yet."  
  
"Nah," Marceline said. "I don't really need to read it. I'll skim through it before class, but I doubt it'll be necessary if Simon is just going to lecture for the first half of class anyway."  
  
Bonnibel looked flustered. "But what if there's a quiz?" she asked.  
  
"On a Monday? Simon wouldn't do that, that's just rude."  
  
"Oh." Bonnibel was looking more displeased by the minute.  
  
"Are you sure you wouldn't like to sit?" Keila asked, tone gentle. Her people skills had always been much better than Marceline's.  
  
"Oh, no thank you. I have things to do." She gesticulated vaguely with her hands. "But it was nice to meet you, um..."  
  
"Keila. Marceline's best friend." Keila stuck her hand out, and Bonnibel shook it before turning abruptly to Marceline.  
  
"I'll see you in school," she said and hurried out the door.  
  
As soon as she was out of earshot Marceline groaned and buried her head in her hands. "See?" she said defeatedly.  
  
"See what? That you make an odd nerd girl with cool hair uncomfortable with your confidence and dismissive nature?" Keila rolled her eyes and dunked her biscotti. "You're an idiot." And no matter what Marceline said after that, Keila would say no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keila doesn't seem to think Bonnibel hates Marceline. What do you guys think her deal is? Let me know in the comments!


	7. Chapter 7

            Marceline knew the holiday party was next weekend. The time and address and details were all burnt into her brain. She'd heard ever detail debated and analyzed in depth for days. This didn't stop Ella from texting her about it all day Sunday. And Monday. And Tuesday. Texts about food and outfits and who would and would not be there. It seemed to never end. If Marceline thought about it, she really couldn't say why Ella was bothering her about all this. They hardly knew one another. She expressed this thought to finn, but he just shrugged it off with a comment about how no one else would listen to her at this point. Finally, Wednesday morning, Marceline couldn't take it anymore. Ella had cornered her in the hall, and the warning bell was ringing. Her face meant business, and it looked an awful lot like party business.

            "Oh my grod El I know!" she groaned, gritting her teeth. "I'm bringing cheese balls, one guest, and brand- name cola. I need to arrive by five to help you set up, I can't park in the driveway,  and I can't wear a mauve dress because you're wearing mauve. I know!"

  
            Ella frowned. "I wasn't going to bug you about the party."

  
            "Sure," Marceline grumbled.

  
            "No, really! I just ironed everything out with Lady. I just wanted to know what's your deal with Bubblegum," she said, sounding almost wounded.

  
            "What deal?" Marceline asked, perplexed.

  
            "We'll, she always talks to you, but neither of you looks happy about it. I know you don't hang out, and I know she told Kat who told Maja who told Melissa that you're the only person who could possibly take her place as valedictorian."

  
            Marceline snorted. "As if! I don't have a shot in hell at valedictorian, she's a shue in. I don't even want it." She bit her lip, deep in thought. "Is that why she doesn't like me?"

  
            Now Ella looked confused. "Are we talking about the same girl? Bubblegum? Candy pink hair? Green eyes? Like, incredible lack of social skills?" Marceline nodded. "She definitely likes you. She tries to talk to you. I know she's like, horrible at it, but I think she's scared of you."

  
"Scared of me? But-" the late bell rang and Ella shook her head impatiently, mouthing "later!" as she disappeared into her classroom.

* * *

          Marceline spent the morning distracted. Bonnibel, scared of her? The weird new girl trying to make friends but was too awkward to sit at the lunch table? Bonnibel, who was smart and beautiful and well-liked? "Sounds fake," she texted Ella under her desk in literature.

  
            "???" Ella responded almost immediately. What class was she in that she could answer that fast?

  
            "Bonnibel isnt afraid of me" Marceline replied while her teacher wrote on the whiteboard.

  
            "Duh Marceline. You don't have to try in school, you don't care about anything. Bonnibel works her ass off all the time. You're a hot & lazy newcomer. That makes her uncomfortable."

  
            Marceline shifted in her seat awkwardly. She didn't want it to make sense, but Ella's words hit home. Maybe Ella sensed this, because she didn't say anything else until lunch, and that was only to make sure Marceline planned on showing up today. During lunch however, she was anything but subtle. They sat down at the table in their usual spots, and Marceline picked at her fruit cup. She hated eating school food, but there hadn't been much in the fridge. She needed to go shopping. 

  
             When Bonnibel sat down at the table, Ella cleared her throat obnoxiously. Marceline panicked immediately. "Bubblegum, do you still like, need a ride to my party? Because I know Marceline lives close to you, I'm sure she could come pick you up." Ella said sweetly, kicking Marceline under the table hard.

  
            "Fuck! Ow dude. Um, sure, I could come get you." Marceline looked Bonnibel over for signs of dislike. She saw nothing but uncertainty. 

  
             Bonnibel bit her lip and narrowed her eyes. "Ok. Yes, please. You know where I live, right?" she asked, nodding slowly as though she was still convincing herself that this was a good idea. Secretly, Marceline agreed.

  
            Marceline nodded, then shook her head. "I mean, I know you live in the kingdoms. But I'm not actually sure where." She replied apologetically.

  
            "Dude." Bonnibel stared at her flatly. "I love on the next block from you. Our yards touch. I can hear you practicing your bass like, mega loud. My house is the pink one, you can't actually miss it."

  
            Marceline did her best not to look too embarrassed. "Oh, ok. That...actually makes a lot of sense." The yard adjacent to hers looked like a Candy Land board, with a big pink Barbie castle settled square in the center. Looking back, she probably could have just assumed that was the Bartlett house. 

  
            "Yeah," Bonnibel replied awkwardly. "I'm gonna go to the library. I'll see you guys later." She scraped all her things into a haphazard like and was gone before anyone could say goodbye. As she walked away, Ella gave Marceline a thumbs up.

  
            "See?" She asked. "She seems to like you just fine." 

            Marceline just buried her face in her hands.

 


	8. Chapter 8

            Marceline Abadeer didn't care for parties.

            Sure, the affair itself was always fun. But the preparation made her anxious. Applying a full face of makeup had its appeal, though. There was a magic to the makeup ritual. She remembered how the pots and tins on her mother’s vanity had always fascinated her. When she was almost too short to see over the bathroom counter, she watched her mother prepare for the many dinner parties her father was required to attend. Hairpins littered the floor, the air was thick with hairspray and Chanel No. 5, and Marceline would stand in the doorway, watching her mother work.

            “No girl needs makeup,” Mom would tell her, smudging a bit of gloss on her daughter’s lips. “Makeup is for fun, and it’s for you. Don’t ever put on makeup for someone else.”

Marceline smiled fondly at the memory, finishing up her brow fill and moving on to her hair. She flipped her damp hair over and blowdried it upside down, hoping for some volume. It was hard to figure out how to dress, especially when Ella so bizarrely specific about what she could and could not wear. She'd laid out a black leather skirt and a flannel, but was just rethinking that. Basement parties were cold, unbearably so, and she knew that to be barelegged would make for the absolute worst night. Sighing, she dug through her drawers and found her tightest, most shredded jeans and wiggled into them resignedly. Not much is more confining than a tight pair of jeans.

            Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number that just said, "On your way?"

            Marceline had almost forgotten that she was picking up the princess tonight. This party was just too much. She typed back "yep €:"

            The phone buzzed again. “I’ll walk over.” Marceline swore, and hurried out the door to start the car so they wouldn’t freeze on the drive over. Ella lived on the other side of town, past the weird boxy houses and out in the country, nowhere near any of her friends. It would be a long, awkward drive, and Marceline wasn’t prepared to freeze the whole time. The car took two tries to turn over in the car. She leaned back in her seat with her eyes half open and waited, watching her breath spiral in smoky swirls.

            "Why is your smiley's mouth a Euro symbol?" Bonnibel asked, dropping into the passenger seat.

           Marceline gasped, then took a moment to restart her heart. "Vampire fangs!" she answered, demonstrating with her fingers and trying to play it off.

            Bonnibel looked like she was going to say something scathing, but thought better of it. There was a smirk playing across her lips. “Mind if I put the radio on?” she asked

            “Sure, whatever you like,” Marceline says, trying to keep the pain from her voice. It was a pretty serious sacrifice to give up full control of the stereo in her car. Marceline braced herself as Bonnibel scanned through the stations. She skipped the two local pop stations and Marceline breathed a sigh of relief. Pop music was a minefield she didn’t feel like navigating tonight. To her pleasant surprise, Bonnibel stopped on the college station from a few towns over, and hummed along to a generic indie song Marceline didn’t actively hate.

            For a while, they rode along in silence. When Know Your Rights by the Clash came on, Bonnie wordlessly turned up the volume. Marceline willed herself not to sing along. The words were too scathing, too powerful to ignore, and she found herself joining in. She didn’t look at Bonnibel.

            “You know why Ella made you drive me, right?” Bonnibel asked conversationally after the song ended.

            “Um,” Marceline began awkwardly. “Because she thinks you’re afraid of me?” she asked.

            “What? No, she was just trying to put me on the spot. She knows I wouldn’t come if she didn’t trick me into it somehow.” Bonnibel looked confused. “What did she tell you?”

            Marceline sighed. “She seems to think I’m stealing your thunder, and that it makes you nervous.”

            Bonnibel snorted. “Yeah, ok. I’m definitely intimidated by the new girl who cheats to get her grades.”

            “Excuse me?” Marceline asked hotly, tearing her eyes away from the road for the first time since they’d left the Kingdoms. “I don’t cheat. Just because I don’t have to study to remember things, and I don’t waste my time on extra work, doesn’t mean I’m a cheater.”

            “Uh huh,” Bonnibel responded flatly. “And you know all the physics answers without listening because you’re a genius, not because you look at Mr. Petrikov’s papers. Sure.”

            “Simon would never let me cheat! I’m not sure where you get your ideas, but maybe you should try not being so judgmental. I know science because it makes sense to me. I don’t like it, I don’t care about it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand it. I don’t have to try. Maybe I’m just smarter than you.” Marceline kept her eyes on the road, trying not to snap at her passenger.

            Bonnibel looked taken aback, and a little offended. “How could anyone who is good at science not love it? It’s how the world works! It explains everything there is to know!” She paused, biting her lip. “And I know you’re not smarter than me.”

            “Science is the how of life. But I’m not interested in how things happen. I’m interested in processing and feeling things as they come. Live in the moment and all that.” She dug through her bag, finding a pack of strawberry gum. She needed to chew on something before she lost her shit. Thankfully, there is a reprieve. Bonnibel’s phone rings, an embarrassingly generic ringtone that Marceline is fairly sure her grandmother has as well. Bonnibel glares at her as if she’s daring her to comment, and answers the phone.

            “Hey, Ella. We’re about halfway there, what’s up?” The tension had slipped right out of her voice. If Marceline didn’t know better, she wouldn’t have thought they’d been arguing at all.0\

Ella’s voice came through the speakers in a shout, causing Bonnibel to wince and hold the phone about a foot from her ear. "Can you pleeeeeeeease pick up some mixers?" she asked in a voice that could not have been mistaken for sobriety.

Bonnie smirked at Marceline and rolled her eyes. “Sure El, what do you need?” she answered patronizingly.

“I dunno, just some soda? You’re smart Bubblegum, get something…” the words became suddenly undistinguishable, then came back twice as loud as before. “Thanks!” There was a click, and Ella was gone. Marceline and Bonnibel looked at one another for a moment, then burst out laughing.

“What the hell was that?” Marceline chortled.

“That was Ella in all her glory. Why do you think you were the only one willing to help her plan this party? She gets all into her plans, but as soon as people show up she goes and gets belligerently drunk. It’s a hoot, but none of us are all that invested in all her ideas when we know she’ll be passed out before midnight.” Bonnie smiled fondly. “She’s got all the self control of a toddler.”

Marceline grinned. “She and I have that in common.” She turned down a side road, navigating toward the nearest ShopRite. “What do you think we should bring?”

Bonnibel grimaced. “A noose?” she suggested.

Marceline let out a startled laugh. “You’re alright, princess,” she conceded, pulling into the parking lot. “Now let’s go buy some mixers.


	9. Chapter 9

Marceline leaned all of her weight against the shopping cart, following Bonnibel through Shop Rite resignedly. She was starting to regret this trip a bit. 

"Any particular reason we can't get brand-name pop, Bon-Bon?" she asked dryly as Bonnibel plopped two three-litres of generic cola into the basket. "I'm a Pepsi drinker, I'm not here for this off-brand bullshit. It goes flat too fast."

"For one, because they don't come in three-litre bottles." Bonnibel held her nose in the air, a mock-snobbish look on her face. Marceline hoped it was mocking, anyway. "For two, because Pepsi's marketing is an embarrassment. If anything, we'd be buying Coke. And above all, because it's soda, not pop, Marceline." Bonnibel added a pineapple pop and some sort of diet soft drink that was too neon for Marceline to even think of drinking. "Where are you even from, Nebraska?"

Marceline rolled her eyes. "The carbonated bubbles in that drink don't soda, they pop. Anyway, just because a brand is using progressive ideas to take your money doesn't make them progressive. Coke's commercial had some LGBT rep, but don't be fooled. Corporations aren't people, they're money-grubbing conglomerates without morals, and they play on your weaknesses." " They were walking away now, past the produce section. Marceline casually pocketed a pomegranate as they went by. "Even Shop-Rite. No-name is still a name. Just made by shoddier means."

Bonnibel shrugged. "I guess," she said offhandedly. "Anyway, do we need anything else?" Marceline shook her head. Ella had only asked for pop, and there was no need to waste money when there was likely to be a ton of food at the house. Bonnibel through a few packs of Hubba Bubba into the basket, but at the self-checkout she swiped her own card without hesitation, and she didn't take plastic bags, so Marceline didn't push the issue. As they exited the store, Marceline gave the cart an almighty shove and hopped on, leaning in to ride across the parking lot with the momentum. "Marceline, that's not very responsible!" Bonnibel called, hurrying after her.

"I'm not responsible!" Marceline shouted back to her, the wind whipping her hair in her face. "I'm fun!" She collided with her bumper with a thud, laughing, and unlocked the car. "Hurry up, would you?"

The rest of the ride to Ella's was fairly quiet. Marceline put a Mars Argo CD in the player and nodded along noncommittally. Bonnibel texted and tapped her fingers on the door of the car. About four blocks from the house, Marceline stopped short and parked the car.

"We're not there yet," Bonnibel said.

"I know," Marceline told her. "I never park close to parties. It's my insurance policy." Bonnibel didn't ask her what that meant, she just hefted two of the bottles at Marceline and carried the other two herself. 

When they arrived at the house, Bonnibel opened the door without knocking. Some people Marceline didn't recognize were dancing in the entryway. Bonnibel nodded at them as they walked by, leading Marceline to a set of steps leading down to the basement. There, a makeshift bar was set up on a ping-pong table, with empty two litre bottles lying on their sides and half-spent bottles of liquor stood precariously near the edges, their lids lost. A jar of maraschino cherries was spilt, its red juice staining a patch of carpet under the table bright pink. There were a few empty solo cups sitting forlornly at the end of the table next to a cooler of melted ice. They set their bottles next to the cups, and Bonnibel snatched the last beer from the sloppy, melted cooler. Marceline was surprised.

"You drink?" she asked.

"A bit. You almost have to at Ella's things. They're fairly tedious otherwise." She cracked open her beer and took a swig. "Gross," she whispered.

"Speaking of Ella," Marceline said, pouring herself a cup of the generic cola, "where is she, anyway?"

Bonnibel laughed and nodded at the sofa across the room. There was a lump of purple chiffon that, upon closer inspection, was actually Ella. She was snoring softly, mouth open wide. Someone had made sure that she was laying on her side, just in case she vomited in her sleep. "She always DOES this!" Bonnibel laughed. "I'll never get why she has these parties if she isn't going to stay up until the end. I'll bet no one is even going to drink that soda but you, you know."

"In that case," Marceline grumbled, "we should have bought the Pepsi." She sipped her cola as Bonnibel wandered off to chat with a squat young man with a full handlebar moustache who was leaning against a pinball machine in the opposite corner of the basement. "This is so pointless," she sighed.

"Sure is," said a voice behind her. She turned to see one of the emo boys who sat behind her in physics. Georgy maybe, or Booboo. Who had so little self-respect that they'd answer to Booboo, she'd never know. They were pretty friendly, inviting Marceline to hang out with them during physics free-periods on Fridays. She mostly only talked to Wendy, who was nowhere in sight.

"How's it going?" she asked him. 

"Not great," he said, taking a swig of his drink. "Wendy left about an hour ago, and I can't find Georgy." 

Ok, so this was Booboo. Poor guy. Marceline wondered what his real name was, but felt it would be rude to ask. "Maybe he's upstairs," she suggested instead. 

Booboo nodded. "Probably. He'll come find me when he's ready to head out. So where are your nerdy friends?" he asked her, smirking slightly. "I guess partying wouldn't be their thing, huh?"

Marceline shrugged. "Guess not. It's not really mine either, to be honest. I'm here as a favour to Ella. Bonnibel's here, though." She nodded at Bonnibel, who was talking animatedly to her friend, waving her hands around for emphasis. "Anyway, I feel like this party could be seriously righteous if the music was a bit better."

"Right?" Booboo agreed. "In our current political setting, I expect better punk rock. So much of it is a facade, it's too focused on feminism and race and the gays, and not enough on the government. Now's the time for a punk advent."

'Yikes,' Marceline thought. "I can see where you're coming from," she hedged. "There's always something in the world that needs improvement, though. Punk always has something meaningful to lash out against, whether it be inequality based on minority status or an overall negative political state. Now it's just something mainstream and noticeable to everyone for the first time since American Idiot. Let's just hope it's effective and well-written, not pseudo-punk skinhead nonsense."

Booboo looked annoyed. "I guess," he said, in a tone that sounded like he didn't agree at all. He clearly wanted to say more on the matter, and Marceline doubted she could keep this from turning into a full-blown shouting match for long. Civility wasn't her strong suit.

Luckily, at that moment Bonnibel came over, leaning on the wall beside Marceline. "I left my purse in your car," she said. "Did you lock it?"

"Yep," said Marceline, relieved for the interruption. Booboo seemed to be as well, and he walked away in a hurry. Marceline bumped her hip casually against Bonnibel's. "Thanks for the rescue," she muttered under her breath.

"Any time," Bonnibel replied. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes slightly glazed. If Marceline didn't know better, she'd say the princess was drunk. "What's that weird bulge in your pocket?" she asked with a giggle.

Marceline stared her down with a serious face. "Is that a pomegranate in my pocket, or am I just happy to see you?" she asked, reaching into her pocket to pull out the pomegranate. Bonnibel's jaw dropped, and Marceline laughed. "Both, I guess," she said, cracking into the tough skin of the fruit with her pocket knife and splitting it open over her empty cup before filling her mouth with sweet, red seeds. She popped a cluster into Bonnibel's open mouth, and cackled and watched her sputter.

"Why do you even have that?" Bonnibel asked, exasperatedly, as she chewed the clump of seeds.

"Aesthetic," Marceline replied, then winked. Bonnibel rolled her eyes. "If you keep doing that, your face will stick that way," Marceline said sweetly.

Bonnibel opened her mouth to reply, but through the storm windows there came a series of flashing red and blue lights. Bonnibel dropped her drink in shock. She grabbed Marceline's shoulder, real fear in her eyes. "I can't get in trouble with the police," she whispers to Marceline. "I can't! What do we do?"

Marceline took a deep breath, eyes darting around to survey the room for an escape route. "Do you trust me?" she asked.

Bonnibels eyes were wide with panic, her breathing jagged. "Yes," she replied, chewing the inside of her cheek anxiously.

"Then let's get the fuck out of here." Marceline grabbed Bonnibel by the sleeve and dragged her to the bathroom opposite the cellar door, shutting the door tight behind them but not locking it. She put the toilet seat down and climbed up on top of it, then reached up to undo the window latch, cracking it open and peeking outside. "Coast is clear here. I need you to go out first. Stay in the shadow under the patio and don't move until I'm out behind you."

"What?" Bonnibel asked, shocked. 

"You said you trusted me! Climb up on the toilet, go out the window, and hide under the patio. I'll boost you up the rest of the way!"

"But how will you get out?"

"I'm a champion at sneaking out, don't worry about me. Go, or we'll both get caught!" She made frantic shooing motions with both hands, and Bonnibel scrambled up onto the toilet. Marceline made a foothold by linking her fingers together, and Bonnibel stepped up into it. Marceline hefted her upward, and watched as she clamored out the window, wiggling to squeeze through the tiny space. As soon as she saw the two pink ballet flats disappear, she was up on the toilet and gripping the cold edge of the window sill. Her fingers slid on the condensation of the early morning dew, but she managed to get a firm enough hold to yank herself up and, with a few good kicks to the tiling, was out the window and pulling it shut behind her. "To cover our trail," she whispered to Bonnibel as she joined her under the patio beside their escape window. Together, they peered out from under the patio and into the yard. The front of the house wasn't an exit option, with a police car and the sound of deep male voices. All around them, the back yard was closed off by a high, wooden fence. "Any ideas?" she asked, barely over a whisper.

Bonnibel gulped audibly, then nodded. "Over by the fire circle there's a gate to the next yard." She pointed across the bare yard to the far corner. Marceline sighed. It was a long way, and with no cover at all. They just had to hope that the partiers inside the house would be the focus.

"Alright," she said softly. "Walk, don't run. Lower your center of gravity and extend your steps, so you move quickly and silently." She demonstrated, and Bonnibel suppressed a snort before doing the same. They moved as stealthily as they could, but neither could help breaking into a sprint in the last ten feet or so. Marceline fumbled a bit with the gate before Bonnibel hip checked her out of the way to unlatch it. They scrambled out into the yard next door, shut the gate behind them, then leaned up against it, taking deep breaths.

"Now what?" Bonnibel asked softly, uncertainly. Her cheeks were flushed and Marceline could see her trembling. 

"Now we walk back to the car, avoiding any contact with the house." She fished in her pockets and pulled out a pack of Trident, offering one to Bonnibel. "You should probably chew some of this. You smell like a goddamn distillery B." She also detangled her earbuds and shoved one in her ear and the other in Bonnibel's. "To calm down. Also, it looks less suspicious." 

Bonnibel still looked pale and waxy. "What if someone stops us?" she asked. "What if we get caught?" 

Marceline shook her head. "We're two high school kids out on a date. We're walking back to my car so I can take you home." She took Bonnibel's hand in hers, clasping it convincingly. "If someone stops us, lean on me and don't say anything if you don't have to. I'll take care of it. Now we really need to get moving, ok?" She tugged at Bonnibel's arm, pulling her out of the shrubs and onto the sidewalk a block behind Ella's house, strolling purposefully. They were still a ways from the car.

"Aren't you glad you parked far away?" Bonnibel asked after a minute or so of silent walking, with a breathless sort of giggle.

Marceline grinned at her. "This is exactly why I don't park close to parties. It's also why I don't drink. I've had my run-ins with trouble, it's not worth it. Besides, liquor tastes like nail polish remover." She wrinkled up her nose. Behind them, she heard a slow-moving car. Bonnibel tensed, and she willed herself to stay relaxed.

A police car pulled up beside them, and the window opened. "Evening, ladies," the officer said conversationally. "What are you doing out so late?"

Marceline squeezed Bonnibel's arm soothingly. 'Stick to the facts,' she thought. 'Lying is always obvious.' "I took this one out for some sodas and a walk, but I need to get her home. It's already crazy late," she said to the officer, grimacing. She pressed a little kiss to Bonnibel's temple, and watched her flush a brilliant shade of cotton candy pink. "I doubt her family would like me keeping her out all night like this."

The officer nodded, and looked them up and down. Both of them were dressed fairly modestly, and Bonnibel was clinging to Marceline in a desperate way that could easily be construed as affection as opposed to panic. "Alright, well you best get yourselves home then. I hope I don't see you out after curfew again."

"No sir," Bonnibel spoke up, and Marceline nodded. He gave them a wave before rolling up his window and driving off. Bonnibel sagged against Marceline's shoulder. "I thought we were dead," she said softly.

Privately, Marceline had to agree, but she didn't say it out loud. Instead, she praised Bonnibel. "You did pretty damn well for someone who was about to faint," she told her.

"Thanks, I think," Bonnibel replied. They finally made it to the car, and Marceline unlocked it. Not five minutes into the carride and Bonnibel was snoring in the passenger seat. Marceline laughed. The princess would snore like a bear. She was quiet not to wake her until they had pulled into the Kingdoms.

"Rise and shine sleepyhead," she sang softly. "Time to go home and pretend not to be a menace to society."

Bonnibel groaned, but didn't answer. "Hey!" Marceline said, shaking her shoulder gently. "Up and at 'em, princess."

"I was planning on staying at Ella's," Bonnibel said sleepily, blinking up at her. "I'm locked out."

"Just stay with me," Marceline suggested. "It's not like my dad's going to notice, or care. He'd be surprised that anyone wants to stay the night with me, honestly."

Bonnibel frowned at her. "Why's that?"

"Well, I haven't been pleasant about this whole move thing. I was pretty mad at him about dragging me out of my life and my routine, and the house I grew up in, just because he could get a bit of a raise out of it. So I haven't made it easy on him." Marceline pulled the car up the driveway and into the carriage house.

"That makes sense," Bonnibel answered, her face sympathetic. She climbed out and locked her door behind her, then stood there forlornly, gripping at her own arms to ward off the chilly winter air. Marceline was cold just looking at her.

"Anyway, just come inside," she said gruffly. "You can crash in my bed, I promise my sheets are clean."

"Where will you sleep?" Bonnibel asked, following her up the walk and into the house.

"We'll burn that bridge when we get to it," she answered. "Now whisper, ok? I don't want to wake my dad."

Together they tiptoed up the stairs and down the hall into Marceline's room. She gave Bonnibel a pair of sweat pants with little bats on them and a big tee shirt that said "Transylvania University of the Arts: Carpe Noctem" on it, then pointed to where the bathroom was. While Bonnibel was out of the room, Marceline changed into something comfortable and arranged her beanbag chairs into a nest in the corner of the room, covering them with the sleeping bag she kept at the back of her closet. It was a good spot in a pinch, and it would keep a safe distance between Marceline and her tipsy guest. 

"You're not sleeping on your floor," Bonnibel said flatly when she entered the room. "That's ridiculous." She sat down on the bed and patted the space beside her. "There's plenty of room. And it's your bed."

Usually, Marceline would have argued, but she sensed that Bonnibel wasn't going to drop this. An argument about it would be too loud and might draw attention to the girl Marceline had sneaked into the house in the wee hours of the morning. So she dropped down onto the mattress beside Bonnibel and resigned herself to sharing the bed. When the lights were out, just as Marceline was about to drift off to sleep, Bonnibel whispered, "Thank you so much. For everything."

"Any time," Marceline answered. And she was shocked to find that she meant it.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marceline and Bonnie wake up post-party. 
> 
> TW for injury and blood loss.

      Marceline rolled over with a groan. The blankets were tangled up in her legs, trapped somewhere around her knees with little space to move. The sunlight streamed, over-warm for this part of spring, across the bed. It was bright, buttery, and beautiful. And it was way too early for Marceline to appreciate it. She tried to yank the covers up over her head, but they were trapped under something in the bed that just wouldn't yield. Frustrated, Marceline rubbed her eyes and glared at the lump in her covers. A tangle of brilliant pink hair tufted over the blankets.

     "Bonnibel," Marceline grunted, "roll over, will you?"

     Bonnibel grumbled and sat up. "G'morning," she murmured, scrubbing at her eye with the heel of her palm. 

     "You don't have to get up, just quit hogging the blankets." Marceline was already laying back down.

     Bonnibel checked her phone. "It's two o'clock!" she gasped. She whacked Marceline on the arm. "Wake up!"

     Marceline stiffened and took a deep breath through her nostrils. "You come into my house...sleep in my bed...and then in the morning, you tell me to wake up...and you hit me?" She whacked Bonnibel with a pillow, who made an incredulous noise. "I don't fucking think so. Go take a shower, you smell like booze. Bathroom's off on the left. Towels in the closet next to it. Use whatever you like." She flopped back down. "I'm going to catch a few more Z's."

     "Fine." Bonnibel flounced out of bed and down the hall. A moment later, she peered back through the door meekly. "Um...Marceline? How do I turn on your shower?"

     "Seriously?" Marceline rolled out of bed and followed Bonnibel back down the hall. She reached down into the deep metal bathtub and turned the hot water knob. Then she reached up to the shower head and turned it. "You'll want to add some cold water, or you're going to boil from the inside."

     There was no use going back to sleep now, so Marceline wandered downstairs and started a pot of coffee. While the pot dripped, she heated up a pan with some butter and started on some over-easy eggs and dropped bread in the toaster. She hummed to herself, a Bayside song that had been stuck in her head the past few days. Before she knew it, she was frying up bacon and serenading the stove. "The healing power of alcohol only works on scrapes and nicks, and not on girls in seedy bars who drown themselves in it."

     "Jeez, Marceline, I had a few drinks. No need to be so melodramatic." Bonnibel entered the kitchen, hair wrapped up in a tight towel turban, wearing one of Marceline's overlarge silk bathrobes. 

     Marceline nodded to the table. "Breakfast," she said, and slid some bacon from the pan onto the plates.

     Bonnibel sat down and took a mug of coffee. She grabbed the sugar bowl, lifted the lid, and poured a good quarter cup of sugar into the coffee. 

     "That's fucking revolting," Marceline said mildly, through a mouthful of bacon.

     "You're revolting," Bonnibel replied primly, stirring her cup and taking a sip. "Thank you, by the way."

     "For reminding you you're revolting? Literally any time, princess."

     "No, for last night. You got me out of a really rough situation back there, you know? I don't think I could have gotten out of there without you." Bonnibel sighed deeply. "There's a lot of pressure from my parents. They run a pretty successful company, and if I were to get in trouble it would make them look bad." She shook her head, looking tired. "It's heavy. Really heavy. The pressure I mean."

     "I bet. My dad can be like that. Sounds like you and I took that pressure a little differently." She shrugged and scraped butter onto her toast. "Your way might be easier."

     "What was yours?" Bonnibel's casual tone seemed forced. 

     "Well I lashed out." She recited, counting on her fingers in an off-hand manner. "I threw things, I screamed, I dressed all in black, I got a stick 'n poke tattoo. I learned to play the bass and joined a loud, angry band that rehearsed in our garage.  I picked up taxidermy and light arson as hobbies. I dated an angry nutjob with a mohawk who is apparently a white supremacist now. I pierced my lip in a public bathroom at a charity event for his company and almost bled out on the bathroom floor."

    Bonnibel was frowning. "Wait, hold up a second. I feel like I knew about that last one. Were you wearing a white cocktail dress?"

    "Of course. That's why I did it. Can you even picture me in a white dress? I was furious!"

    "Oh my glob that was you!" Bonnibel nearly shrieked, pointing at Marceline and slapping the table with her other hand. 

    "What...was me?" Marceline asked, perplexed. 

    "You were the girl with the bloody mouth at the Candy Kingdom benefit ball!" Her eyes were popping, and she was shaking with laughter. "Oh my glob, you would be!"

    "Want to refresh my memory? That night's a bit hazy."

    "I went to the bathroom to powder my nose and take a break from my mother's near-meltdown about finger food and company policy, and there was this girl leaning over the sink and laughing at her reflection. I complemented her dress, and she turned around to thank me. There was blood running down her chin and the front of her dress was all junked up with red splashes."

    "Oh glob," Marceline whispered, horrified.

    "I asked if she was ok." Giggles broke through, punctuating her story. "She staggered toward me kind of awkwardly and sat down on the floor. She looked up at me so seriously, with these big, intense eyes and she said, 'Never let anyone tell you what you can't do. Fight 'em all. Fuck em.' And then she swayed a few times and fell flat on her back." Bonnibel finished her story with a dramatic flourish. "And that was you, wasn't it?"

    "Nooooooooo!" Marceline groaned. No way. Bonnibel had not seen the worst of her 15 year old rebellion.

    "I called 911 and sneaked back to the party. I had a feeling I shouldn't warn the party guests, you were clearly looking for a real disruption, and I was all for that. I can't believe that was you!"

    Marceline pointed to a small scar on her lower lip, opposite a well-healed lip piercing. "That was definitely me."

    "And you don't remember any of it? Nothing at all? Bullstuff." 

    "Well I um...I remember feeling really drunk. And that I definitely could have gone and gotten help much sooner, but I was convinced that I would be just fine and that I needed to get the ring through the hole. And I thought I saw an um..."

    "An um?" Bonnibel prompted.

    "Nothing. I thought I hallucinated, but I uh, think I just saw you and got confused. I had lost some blood, you know?" Marceline coughed, cheeks red. No way was she admitting that she'd always thought she saw an angel that day, or that the sad look on the angel's face when she walked in the bathroom had made her want to make some changes in her life. She buried her face in her hands and sighed.

    "Well, you punctured your inferior labial artery, didn't you? It was a mess, you looked like something from a movie."

    Marceline snorted when Bonnibel said "labial." "It was actually an arterial aneurism due to mouth laceration, as per my doctor. Alongside a good bit of blood loss, there was some 'notable damage." Marceline wiggled her fingers in air quotes and rolled her eyes. "It wasn't major. But it made Dad lay off me for a while."

    "It sounds kind of major, Marceline," Bonnibel hedged. She stood up and carried her stacked plates to the sink, where she began washing. "But you saved me from having to give some awful pre-written speech for my parents, so I'm grateful. I always wondered who the bloody mouth girl was..."

    "You really don't have to do that, Bonnie," Marceline said.

    "You cook, I'll clean." Bonnibel was wiping each dish dry with a clean dish towel instead of setting them in the drainer like a normal person. Marceline wasn't entirely sure where she'd even found a clean dishtowel, honestly. She hadn't realized they had dish towels.

    "Ok, whatever." Marceline fiddled with her phone and pulled up a Minutemen video and hummed absently along to "Political Song for Michael Jackson to Sing" while Bonnibel finished up.

    "Why do you do that?" Bonnibel asked.

    "Do what? I'm literally sitting here doing nothing."

    "You always have earbuds in, or you're humming, or whistling, or playing music on your phone. And don't even pretend you don't hide in the music room during lunch when Lady and Finn don't drag you over to the caf. You never really engage with people except under duress. You just silently glare from behind your hair and ignore everyone. When you first moved here, I thought you were just really rude. But I don't think that's it. You're not rude, you're thoughtful."

    "Oh, don't let anyone hear you say that, you'll ruin my reputation." Marceline laughed. "It's just how I focus. If I'm not doing two things at once, I'm not doing anything. Taking tests in a silent classroom is murder. And I don't like interacting with people much. It makes me uncomfortable."

    "But you can perform in a band?" Bonnibel asked, unimpressed.

    "Well, yeah, that's different. That's not me on stage, that's a persona. Who the crowd sees and who I am are totally different. It's acting, you know? But at the same time, Marceline the Vampire Queen is more me than the girl sitting at the table here talking to you."

    Bonnibel struggled to hide a snicker. "Your stage name is Marceline the Vampire Queen? Seriously?"

    "Shut up, princess, I outrank you. But seriously, it's different, it's all different. There's this incredible rush, when everyone is hanging on every word from your mouth and shouting along. I can't even hear the music onstage, just my blood rushing in my ears. I have to feel the rhythm in my bones or I get lost. Actually, speaking of my band-" she checked her phone. "Shit."

    "What's wrong?" Bonnibel asked.

    "I have rehearsal, Keila is going to be here to get me any second. I have to go get dressed, I'm so sorry-"

    "No, no, I should be going, I've intruded for long enough, you've already done so much for me." Bonnibel was apologetic, clutching at the dishtowel.

    "It's not an intrusion, Bonnibel. I invited you. You're welcome whenever, you're less of a goody-goody than I expected. And you might have saved my life at that charity thing." A car horn honked outside. "Fuck, Bonnie, I've got to go. Take your time heading home, I'll see you later ok?" She gave an awkward half-arm hug and dashed to the door, shoving her feet into her Docs and dashing to Keila's car before Bonnibel could stop her to tell her that she was wearing plaid boxer shorts and a giant We The Kings shirt.

 

    

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, the lip piercing story is (loosely) based on something I did in high school. Marceline isn't a blatant self-insert or anything, not at all!


	11. Chapter 11

Marceline threw herself down in the passenger seat of Keila’s car. “I am so. Fucking. Sorry.” She slammed the door shut behind her. Keila was stretched out in the driver’s seat, drinking what looked like an expensive cocktail, pale green and salt-rimmed in a chipped Hard Rock martini glass.  “Dude, you can’t fucking drink that when you drive.”

 

Keila looked at her glass, confused. “What, this? It’s just a cucumber aqua fresca. No booze.”

 

Marceline rolled her eyes. “You’re so fucking weird. Anyway, sorry I was late. Bonnie stayed over last night.”

 

Keila looked Marceline up and down as she pulled down the driveway. “Is that why you’re not wearing any pants?”

 

Marceline looked down, mortified. “What? Aw, shit…” Her baggy, plaid boxer shorts were definitely not going to pass as pants. “Do you have anything in the back?”

 

“Nope!” Keila said cheerfully. “You’re just gonna have to suffer.”

 

“Seriously?” Marceline sunk down low in her seat. “This sucks…”

 

“Life sucks,” Keila said, still cheerful. “Then you die! Deal with it.” She took a sip of her weird drink. “Want some?”

 

Marceline made a face. “Um, no thank you. Ew.”

 

“There’s a Stress Rx tea for you in the glove box.”

 

“Score!” Marceline dug out the plastic bottle of tea and cracked it open, taking a few deep swigs. “Ahhh...caffeine. My love.”

 

“Yeah, you’re welcome.” Keila punched Marceline’s arm. “What happened with you and Princess Bubblegum of the pink hair?”

 

“Really, it’s nothing. We went to a party, it got busted, I got her out before the cops got their hands on her.”

 

“Isn’t she some sort of upper middle-class debutante? Her family owns Candy Kingdom, right? With the theme park and the chocolate bars and shit?”

 

Marceline frowned. “I never...actually made that connection. But yeah, I think so. Hey! Do you remember when I pierced my own lip and got stuck in the hospital for a couple days?”

 

Keila snorted. “Yeah, dumbass, I remember that. You missed three practices and Guy’s birthday. I almost strangled you for that.”

 

“You’d strangle me for less,” Marceline answered dryly. “Anyway, apparently Bonnie was the one who called an ambulance and got my shit together. That weird business banquet was a Candy Kingdom thing.”

 

“Oh shit, that’s embarrassing. Of all the dumb shit you’ve done, that’s definitely the dumbest. No wonder she didn’t give you the time of day.”

 

“She says she didn’t realize who I was until today. But either way, yeah. Pretty embarrassing. I don’t know how I’m gonna show my face at school tomorrow knowing she saw me covered in blood in a ballgown…”

 

Keila shrugged. “Some girls are into that. Some kind of aesthetic bullshit. You gonna see her again?”

 

          “Well, we go to the same school and have the same friends, so I'm sure I'll eventually run into her. We'll see if I can make eye contact.”

 

          “You know what I mean!”

 

Marceline didn’t answer, deciding instead to put a CD in the stereo. The Clash was always loud enough to drown out conversation, and she knew Keila would get distracted enough by singing along and beating the steering wheel to the beat to continue her third degree. 

 

          There was no stopping the barrage of harassment upon their arrival though. Bongo immediately complimented her “walk of shame vibe” and Guy offered to take his pants off so she wouldn't feel so out of place. 

 

          “You guys are so fucking gross. Shut up and let me tune.” She banged out the necessary notes on Keila’s keyboard to match pitch. 

 

          They played for most of the afternoon, almost none of it original. Keila insisted that they learn Ziggy Stardust “out of respect for a lost icon” and Guy really wanted to cover that new Killers song about “That man or whatever.”

 

          “I'm not even a man…” Marceline grumbled, but brightened upon reading the lyrics. “According to this, all you need to be a man is gas in the tank and money in the bank. I'm more man than any of you, Bingo doesn’t even own a car.” 

 

          At some point during the afternoon, Marceline’s phone vibrated. She didn't have a second to check it until she and Keila were in the car heading home.

          “Hey! Just wanted to thank you again for last night, you're the best. See you at school tomorrow!”

  
          Marceline couldn't help grinning, until Keila peered over her shoulder and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. Marceline scowled and shoved her phone in her pocket. Girls...


End file.
